I Wish This Would Be Your Colour
by txilar
Summary: I wish this would be your colour. But it isn’t.


**Notes:** Songfic I guess. Ugh? Lyrics/Inspiration from Einstürzende Neubauten's Sabrina from the album silence is sexy and are included below.

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**Red**  
_It's not the red of the dying sun _  
Sirius's lips were the red of sucking on lollipops; Remus's the chapped red of intense chewing and biting. Maybe his own teeth, maybe someone else's. He sometimes looked at Remus's lips, wishing it was his teeth on them, and sometimes Remus looked at Sirius's lips just wishing he could taste the lollipop beneath, strawberry, he decided, was the most likely flavour. In between the ticking of clocks and clacking of feet in hallways, Sirius wished for the colour of Remus's lips. _I want your lips_. It was so easy to say. So ridiculous. So honest. Instead he sucked on a lollipop and watched Remus. Remus, biting his lips, thinking, _I want to taste you. It's too hard,_ thought Remus. _Too real. I could never._ And Sirius blinks. And Remus looks at the clock. Out the window to the red setting sun, right in the centre where he looks so he's momentarily blinded when he looks back and can't see Sirius or his ruby lips.

He bites his lips, hands Remus the lollipop. Remus's lips open. It's not strawberry.

**Gold**  
_It's not that gold, it's not gold at all _  
Remus's hair is the gold&brown of late autumn leaves. He can watch him sleeping early in the morning, because the werewolf (how he hates epithets, he really does) is a night owl and he, Sirius, is whatever the times require. And to watch Remus in his sleep he has to be early, so that's what he is. He can't touch him, but Remus dreams that he does. Remus remembers that he does, whether he does or not, and the dreams&memories are gold, that gold, yes, and they can't be stolen from him, these memories. Real or not, they can't get stolen. And he frowns in his sleep and Sirius wonders if he knows. Sometimes he thrashes in his sleep and wrongly, Sirius knows it is wrong, he is glad for the chance to touch. To calm. To soothe. He's never pushed away. Sleepy eyes, confused eyes and words on the ends of dreams, _I wish… I had a nightmare. Stay?_ Sirius smiles only a little, just to assure, not to scare and nods, settling in beside him. And Remus bites his lips as he squirms next to Sirius, all heat and warmth and arms. He can feel that pulse beat beneath his lips and has to bite his lips all the more not to kiss touch lick that warm beating spot. Sirius twists his fingers in Remus's hair, forgetting subtlety completely.

His hair is not that gold at all really.

**Red&Gold**  
_I wish this would be your colour_  
The red and gold of the setting sun lit them up like gilt statues. They stood, looking at each other and then out toward the lake, to them. They were so still, there was a moment of magic in the air and it was as if they _were_ statues, looking at each other, but seeing nothing. Then the moment twitched and glittered and the sun moved again, lowering eyelids, kissing them gold and Peter&James look away and laugh, remembering they are only boys and time has more in store for them. Remus pushes his hands through pitchblack hair and Sirius traces redchapped lips. They smile easily, not needing words or sayings or prayers, just fingertips and the cold air. Barely touching, they don't care who sees or doesn't see or just pretends to. It really doesn't matter.

In the red of the dying sun they finally touched lips and it was worth more galleons than either could comprehend and for completely different reasons.

**Gold&Red **  
_Your colour I wish_  
The gold and red of the dorm room curtains hid them, even though no one was looking. Sirius doesn't want to share this with anyone, his lips are his and his lips his lips…. Remus closed his eyes trailing his fingers down Sirius's face, the ticking of the clock emphasising each touch. Sirius responded, eyes closed, with his lips. No lollipops, no smoke, only skin, musky with warmth and salt and the restless outdoor scent of boys. Slick in places, dry in others, nervous laughter and halted stilted catching breath. Shivers, nerves and goose pimples and that feeling of nearly passing out. Sirius pulls Remus down to him, catches him as he loses balance and the muffled laughter quickly fades as they roll. They turn and twist and lose rhythm the faster they move. The lazy sun sinks in the sky and fingers clutch at hips and pull at shoulders; pushing and sliding against gold&red&black and it feels so good so loud so hard and its over far too fast leaving them both panting breathless and slightly shaking and wanting to do it all over again. Fingers exploring and sweaty hair stuck in places, lips too numb to kiss; legs twined and breath mingling.

_Now those lips are mine_, he thinks.

**Black**  
_It is that black, it is that black _  
Sirius's hair was black, with no hints of blue or brown, just a flat black that absorbed the heat, the sun and gave no glow. It burned. Like ashes, like something dead, with no reflection. A starless winter's night told by night fires and campfire breakfasts. The kind of night sky that you only see once in a lifetime, so black, you feel you might be at the end of your days. The ephemeral plumes of smoke get caught in this hair and always smell like they've always been there. Cigarettes, fires, furnaces, city smoke, country fires. Long, short or in between, in between your fingers, strands caught in your lips, you pull handfuls back, hard, to catch those ruby lips, coloured from your teeth and these days it's never the sun shining down on it, because sunlight is exposure and like a fragile photograph, you keep him hidden, safe, chafing and crumbling. His nose in your neck, dog or man, you can only keep him down for so long. You had your hands on his back one last time and if you'd have known…if only you'd have known. You can't cry of course, you don't cry, but you smell smoke and run to the bathroom to get sick. You taste strawberries and feel dizzy and forget who's speaking for a moment. Sometimes the red of the setting sun brings on vertigo and you can't stand. You want to believe the fairytales. You want to believe the colours, the sounds and the distinct taste in between moments. You want to believe, but aren't you too old for that now?

You keep each strand of hair you find. In the bed, in the library, by the fireplace.

end

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**Standard Disclaimer:** These are not my characters. All rights belong to JK Rowling. I use them solely for the purpose of fandom and intend nothing more than that. )

_**Einstürzende Neubauten - Sabrina**  
It's not the red of the dying sun  
The morning sheet's surprising stain  
It's not the red of which we bleed  
The red of Cabinet Sauvignon  
A world of ruby all in vain  
It's not that red, it's not that red  
It's not that red, it's not that red_

_It's not as golden as Zeus' famous shower  
It doesn't not at all come from above  
It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen  
It's not that gold  
It's not as golden as memory  
Or the age of the same name  
It's not that gold, it's not that gold  
It's not that gold, it's not gold at all_

_I wish that would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
Your colour I wish_

_I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
Your colour I wish_

_It is as black as Malevich's square  
The cold furnace in which we stare  
A high pitch on a future scale  
It is a starless winter night's tale  
It suits you know  
It is a dead black, it is that black  
It is that black, it is that black_

_I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour  
I wish this would be your colour ...  
Your colour I wish_


End file.
